


Bury Sorrow Out of Sight

by Maidenjedi



Category: The Stand - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5502293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/pseuds/Maidenjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Larry and Lucy say goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bury Sorrow Out of Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninety6tears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninety6tears/gifts).



"I always knew it would end badly," she whispered. She wouldn't look at him, wouldn't turn to him. "I knew I'd lose you."

Larry wanted - he _needed_ \- Lucy to turn around and look at him, hold him, demand that he stay. He pictured Fran's outburst and her vehement denial of everything Mother Abagail had said, her terrible, broken cry and her astonishment that it was, every word, ordained. Larry wanted Lucy to show even a little of that defiance, Fran's fire.

Lucy had fainted. She'd been so quiet they'd all, even Larry, let's not leave him out, forgotten she was in the room, until she hit the floor with a sad, desperate sigh. And now Lucy was staring out the window of their bedroom, sitting on their bed, holding on to the quilt they picked out in the antique gift shop on Pearl Street.

They. Theirs.

He ran his hand through his hair and bit down on the string of curses that threatened to surface. He walked out of the room, leaving Lucy on their - that - bed. He hadn't wanted this! Goddamnit, he never wanted this.

Anger boiled in him, filled his senses. He went into the kitchen and opened a cabinet door just to slam it shut again. He picked up a glass, testing the weight, positioned his arm to throw it harder than Whitey Ford. He imagined it shattering, Lucy screaming, Larry himself walking right out the door and going east. _How do you like that? I'm gassing up the bike and going east._

Old Larry was going to win. He was going to come right on out to play. _You will go this day, in the clothes you stand up in_. Yeah, right. Fuck that shit. He never wanted it, never wanted to be a leader, anyone God or His emissaries would look to and send on a mission in the desert. Larry didn't want it and would not have it.

And he hadn't wanted this, either. A woman looking up to him, depending on him. He wanted a good fuck and a hearty laugh, and he wanted to wake up in the morning and walk away without anyone flinging a spatula at his head.

_You ain't no fucking nice guy._

He drew his arm back, clenching the glass now so tightly that his hand was slick with sweat. 

"Larry?"

Lucy's small voice broke through, and Larry's arm crumpled. He dropped the glass and it shattered at his feet. They both jumped at the sound.

"Lucy," he whispered, and he began to sob.

-

He stepped over the glass, crunching a bigger piece under his heel as he walked over to Lucy. She took his hands and he pressed his forehead to hers. "Lucy?" he said, his voice unsure, boy-like. 

"Shh," she replied, closing her eyes. She said something under her breath, and Larry couldn't hear it for the blood pounding in his ears. He picked out a word, "blessed." Another "pray." 

He knew it. "Blessed Mother Mary, pray for us," he said aloud, probably for the first time since he was fourteen and an altar boy. 

Lucy squeezed his hands. "Pray for us," she said, louder now, more clearly. She backed up, still holding his hands, and looked up into his wet, red-rimmed eyes.

"Larry, come to bed."

He nodded, and she turned to lead the way.

-

The first time they'd slept together, on the road, Lucy had been a bit of a giggling mess. They'd been a little drunk, probably the worst idea anyone in their group had while they were out there. But it was a celebratory night of sorts, they'd made good time, picked up good people, and Lucy was in too good a mood not to giggle and flush. Larry had been looking at her more and more, taking a liberty or two, flirting. When he wasn't looking at or trying to flirt with Nadine. And that night, he hadn't looked at Nadine once.

It had been good. They'd decided to skinny-dip in the moonlight, up the river from the campsite. And Larry had taken Lucy in his arms, said nothing whatsoever, and fucked her. Lucy, as love struck as she was even then, classified it as such. Every time after that, it was a little bit the same. It was a good fuck. Lucy knew how to tell the difference, after all.

Until the night he chose her. The night he picked her, and left Nadine in the cold.

That night, he'd stammered his apology, and Lucy, knowing as she did that Larry had conquered something in himself to make the decision at all, had made the first move. She held out her hand, and said, "Larry, come to bed." 

He followed her, and worshipped her as best he knew how. She did not giggle that night.

She loved.

-

Larry sat on the bed and looked down at his lap. Lucy sat next to him and took his hand in hers.

"I knew I'd lose you," she repeated. 

Larry nodded. "One way or the other, right?" He tried to be flip and failed.

"No," she said. "I dreamt it. Two nights ago, I dreamt everything that happened in that room today. Mother Abagail, even the way...the way she _smelled_. Except for one thing."

Larry watched her, dumbfounded. "What one thing?"

"In my dream," she sighed, "Mother Abagail turned to me and told me...she said I had to be brave. That my child would need its mother." Her voice broke over that last and tears spilled down her cheeks.

Larry clenched his fists. There was anger, yes, but it was dull. Immediately, on the surface, there was fear, and somewhere, elation. Her child? Surely, _their_ child.

"Are you? Lucy, are you?"

She sniffed and gave him a watery smile. "I doubt it very much. The timing...no, I don't think I am. Yet."

Larry turned and took her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her nose. 

He would have been a shit father, he'd always assumed. It wasn't like he'd had a shining example set forth for him. He'd never been chased with a paternity suit, but then, he was careful. His mother had been right about that.

He hadn't really been careful with Lucy. She hadn't objected. 

He would have been a shit father. In that world. In this one? 

Would he even get to find out?

He kissed Lucy full on the lips and she kissed back, every ounce of passion in evidence. He only had a short time left before he had to go, before he would walk west and....

Lucy tugged at his shirt and he helped her take it off him. She kissed his chest, resting her hands on his hips. He put his hands back on her face and drew her back up to him, kissing her again and again.

And made love to her. Lucy knew it then, and never forgot.

-

"Lucy," he murmured.

"Mmm."

"It could happen today."

She raised her head from his chest and looked at him. 

"It could."

She sat up, hugging herself. Larry watched her carefully. 

"It could, Larry. And you have another reason to come home, then, to find out." She whispered it, superstitious. 

"I have enough reason to come home," he said, sitting up and kissing her shoulder. 

"Come home, then, Larry." She squeezed her eyes shut and curled into him. "Come home."

Larry rubbed his face in her hair and kept his eyes on the window. A bird, some black bird, landed on the windowsill and for a brief, dark second, Larry was afraid, chilled to the bone.

He looked away from the window and held Lucy tighter, and when the fear passed and he could no longer even imagine the bird's yellow eye, he made love to her again. As slowly as he could, and this time, when it was over, they said nothing about him coming home, or reasons why he should.

-

He took a shower, and shaved, taking his time. He wasn't going to be late, but he wanted to start as fresh as he could. 

Lucy went out to the lawn to wait for him. There was a concrete bench under the lone tree in the yard, put there by the original owners, whoever they had been. Dead now, thought Lucy. Gone now. She sat on the bench.

She sighed, not the weak, submissive sigh issued before she'd fainted, but a deeper, resigned sigh. He was going, it was happening. And she really had known, even before that terrible dream. They were supposed to have been done with dreams, she thought. 

Now, she thought of the dreams then and the new dream and hoped there would be more. Good ones. Dreams of homecoming, of hope, of love and laughter and a future.

A future with Larry. 

She said a prayer. She said it out loud, not caring who heard, and she spelled out her deepest wishes and fondest hopes.

And the cackle of a bird interrupted her.

She looked up, into the branches of the tree. A black bird. A raven, or a grackle. She hated those things and she hated this one on sight. It - he? - cawed down at her.

 _No_ , it said.

_It said no._

Lucy ran up to the house and reached for the broom she kept on the porch. When she got back to the tree, the bird had flown.

It said no.

-

"Bye, Larry," she said, in a strange tone of voice. She hadn't told him about the bird, and he had forgotten there was one at all. The perfect conundrum.

Fran clutched Stu, the defiant fire still in her eyes. Larry watched them, and looked back at Lucy. There was no fire in Lucy's eyes, but there was clear love. He needed that, he knew, much more than he needed fire.

Lucy choked on a sob when Larry, Stu, Glen, and Ralph turned to go. She would not cry, damn it all, she'd cried plenty and there would be more tears to come. Right now, though, she would not cry.

She followed Frannie inside and they made tea, and sat down to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Robert Browning's "A Woman's Last Word," which is a great Lucy-POV poem if you read it that way.
> 
> http://genius.com/Robert-browning-a-womans-last-word-annotated


End file.
